


In Which Brock Isn't Quite So Evil, But Still Completely Insane

by Shi_Toyu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Because of Character Perspective, Brock Rumlow feels, Brock Rumlow is an Absolute Shit, Commission fic, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Dubious Morality, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Medical Attention, Not Author Perspective, Not Steve Friendly, One-Sided Attraction, POV Brock Rumlow, POV Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Prompt Fill, Protective Steve Rogers, Salt, Sort Of, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu
Summary: While Jack checked out the rest of the base, Brock crept slowly closer to the body on the ground. Maybe there would be something from the suit they could salvage. At the very least, Brock was taking that fucking shield. He would plan something just to get the opportunity to wear Roger’s own shield into battle against him. He’d lose it, and likely lose whatever he was going after, but damn if it wouldn’t be worth it just to see the look on Rogers’s face.





	In Which Brock Isn't Quite So Evil, But Still Completely Insane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fancy_Dragonqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancy_Dragonqueen/gifts).



> For the wonderful Fancy_Dragonqueen, song of my heart and light of my world! I hope this works, though it was not exactly what you prompted.

Hydra was the kind of organization where even the people involved didn’t know everything about it. That was part of how they survived. Still, Brock had been there long enough to learn more than your average flunky agent. After Pierce’s fall (and thank fuck for _that_ ) he used what he knew to get supplies and weapons, find places to stay. He had very little interest in finding what was left of Hydra anymore. He’d rather move on, forge his own path, than go back to following the orders of idiots who clearly didn’t have a handle on the situation.

He and Jack Rollins, that damn stubborn bastard who’d stuck around long enough to pull Brock’s sorry ass out of the rubble, had been hopping from Hydra facility to Hydra facility, raiding them for whatever they could find. There’d been a bit of crime here and there, too, admittedly, but only because they got bored without something to do and Brock’s medical bills hadn’t been exactly cheap. That was the thing with black market doctors, they weren’t exactly forgiving when a payment was late.

After the narrow escape in Lagos they decided to lay low for a while, head for cooler climates. The hot air was hell on Brock’s burns anyway. Everything was, really. Even though they’d all healed and scarred, Brock still felt like the heat just poured out of them. He hated it. They reminded him of how his features had been twisted.

When they stumbled upon the alert that someone had breached the security of a Hydra bunker in Siberia, they knew they had to move quickly. Chances were, it was just the elements finally breaking down the walls, but they had heard about the explosion at the signing of the Accords, about the manhunt for the Winter Soldier and the resulting divide among the Avengers. It would make sense for the Winter Soldier to run to familiar ground, and the facility had been used for training and programming for decades before Alexander Pierce moved the Soldier to the United States. Getting their hands on the Winter Soldier again… Well, that was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

When Brock and Jack arrived, the snow all around the bunker has been turned up and disturbed. Whoever had triggered the alert had already come and gone, leaving behind clear signs of several aircrafts. The main doorway into the facility was standing wide open, allowing them easy entry. Even though it didn’t look like there was anyone still around, they proceeded with caution, weapons out. They found the room where the other Winter Soldiers had been kept, all dead. At least that’s what they looked like. They were in the same cryotubes that Barnes had been kept in, just these all had bullet holes in them.

It was in that room that they found the first signs of a struggle. There were scorch marks on the walls and pits blown out of the concrete. Brock and Jack exchanged a look before following the trail further into the base. Whatever fight had happened here, it’d involved some large caliber weapons. Brock wasn’t sure what to expect, wasn’t sure they’d even find _anything_. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find Tony Stark.

He and Jack both froze at the first sight of him, looking more like a corpse than a man still among the living. He was still in the Iron Man armor, though it was missing the helmet and looked like it’d been put through a blender. Hell, Brock was pretty sure he’d looked better when Jack had pulled him out from under that building. Stark was crumpled on the ground, curled around Captain America’s shield like it’d taken the last of his strength to crawl there before he collapsed. Anger curled in the pit of Brock’s stomach, along with no small amount of fear.

“Check the rest of the base, and be careful. Be ready to run,” he ordered gruffly.

Jack nodded, needing no further explanation, and disappeared back the way they’d come. If Rogers where here, there’d be serious trouble for sure. Fucking Rogers. But maybe Brock’s luck would hold, just this once.

While Jack checked out the rest of the base, Brock crept slowly closer to the body on the ground. Maybe there would be something from the suit they could salvage. At the very least, Brock was taking that fucking shield. He would _plan_ something just to get the opportunity to wear Roger’s own shield into battle against him. He’d lose it, and likely lose whatever he was going after, but damn if it wouldn’t be worth it just to see the look on Rogers’s face. Speaking of… He pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the scene. He still had Rogers’ number somewhere, he was sure. Even if he didn’t, Brock could always leak it somewhere online.

He crouched down next to the body, taking a moment to feel sorrow for the man’s death. Tony Stark had been a good man, for all that Brock could appreciate a good man. He’d been brilliant, though, his energy lighting up the room. Brock had never really known him, had barely even ever met him in passing, but he could definitely appreciate the hell he gave Director Fury. There was something to be said for Stark’s gift of blowing up his enemy, too. Though, clearly, that hadn’t worked so well against whoever he’d gone up against here.

Moment having passed, Brock’s brief foray into feeling something that could almost be described as humanity over, he reached out to shove the armor onto it’s back. He immediately took note of two things right off the bat. First, there was a long dent across the chest of the armor, deep enough to have bent the metal inward until it snapped, shattering the arc reactor that normally shone so brightly, a dent that matched up with the length and curve of the shied Stark had been curled around. Second, the man he’d thought was dead gave a pained groan as he was rolled over.

Tony Stark was alive.

.

The first time Tony woke, he wasn’t aware of much. He was warm, which was a nice improvement over what he could remember last, but there was pain everywhere. The worst of it was in his chest, crushing his ribs, pressing on his lungs, and- Oh, God! Steve! Please, no!

He thrashed, trying to get away, screams tearing from his throat. Hands were on him, then, and there was shouting. It only made his panic more. There was more than just Steve here! Who else was there? Barnes? Natasha? Clint and the others? Had they managed to break free somehow and come after him to? Tony wouldn’t blame them. He deserved their hate. He just wasn’t ready to die yet!

Or was he back in that cave in Afghanistan, a captive surgeon digging shards of metal out of his chest in an impromptu operating room? He could practically feel the shrapnel trying to crawl its way deeper and deeper under his skin, growing ever closer to his heart and the sweet oblivion destroying it offered.

He couldn’t _breathe_ , though, just like he hadn’t been able to on the other side of that wormhole, the vacuum of space sucking every scrap of air out of him as he watched Earth’s doom coming towards them as a fleet of war ships.

His chest burned with the screaming fire of Extremis, trying to set him aflame from the inside out. It would destroy him! He knew it! His calculations had been wrong, wrong, wrong!

There was a pinch at the inside of his elbow, almost unnoticeable compared to the fire that burned through his chest. Tears blurred his vision, even as he tried to frantically blink them away. He didn’t want to die! He didn’t want to die! He didn’t want to- The darkness took him.

.

It continued this way for Tony didn’t know how long. He never roused again quite as much as he had the first time, but enough to cause panic to rip through him like a fierce wind. Distantly, he knew he’d been awake before and knew he was likely reacting to his own soreness rather than any new threat of injury, but his body and brain just wouldn’t _get with the program_. Fuck, but whatever hospital he was in probably had him drugged to the gills just to keep him from lashing out at the poor nurses having to rush to his aid every time his dumb ass flew into a panic attack upon trying to wake up.

He almost wished he would stop waking up at all.

.

The first time he woke up enough, without having a panic attack, to realize he wasn’t actually in a hospital, a bolt of fear ran down his spine. He certainly wasn’t in the tower, or the Avengers compound, or any of his other assorted homes. He didn’t recognize the room, there was no way he owned sheets with such a despicably low thread count, and it looked more like he was in a private home than a hotel. Hotels all had that certain kind of look about them. Not a UN facility, either. The feeling of it was too lived-in.

His chest was still a mess of pain, though, and he didn’t dare try to sit up, so he only had a limited view of the room. It didn’t provide him with many clues. There weren’t any personal photographs or anything that he could see, but there was a birthday card standing up on the night stand nearest him and one of those little decorative plaques that read ‘I love you more that cupcakes!’ He closed his eyes and breathed carefully, trying not to aggravate his chest any more than it already was.

On the backs of his eyelids, projected there in technicolor, he could still see Steve standing over him, shield raised high and ready to bring it down on his chest. Fuck, how did- How did everything get so out of control? Tony had been so _angry_ , watching that video, discovering that Steve had _known_. He’d wanted Steve to hurt, and then hadn’t wanted Barnes to get away, and then… then he was fighting for his life, just as much as Steve and Barnes were fighting for theirs.

“I hope you’re not trying to pretend to still be asleep.”

Tony’s eyes flew open again, head rolling to try and catch a glimpse of whoever had spoken. The man stepped helpfully into his line of sight, sly grin stretched across a face that was just a bit too sharp to be truly handsome. Dark hair was pushed back behind his ears and he eyed Tony in a way that was particularly unsettling. He was pretty extra certain this man wasn’t a member of medical staff. His bearing was far too much like a soldier. It set Tony even more on edge.

“Who are you?” he asked gruffly, his voice coming out rough even to his own ears.

The man raised an eyebrow at him judgmentally, but set a glass of water down on the nightstand and moved to help Tony sit up. The movement left Tony gasping for breath and clutching as his chest with pained whimpers.

“I’m Jack,” he said, not seeming the least bit sympathetic to Tony’s plight. “You don’t know me. Brock will be glad to know you’re awake, though.”

Tony frowned, trying to sort through his memory while his head was still clouded by pain.

“Brock?”

“Yeah, Rumlow. Guess you might know him better as Crossbones, though.”

Tony’s blood ran cold.

Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they said. At least he didn’t have to deal with Ross breathing down his neck if he was a Hydra captive. Pepper would be so proud of him, looking at the silver lining.

.

Brock was over the moon pleased. Tony Stark was no Winter Soldier, but he was still a damn fine catch. The notoriety alone was enough to get him traction in the underworld once word got out. Sure, Stark was bound to escape at some point, but that was an inevitability. In the meantime, Brock would get all the enjoyment out of the situation he possibly could.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he said as he strolled through the door of the room where they were keeping Tony. “I hear you’re finally awake and not even having a panic attack!”

He grinned widely at the scowling man in the bed. It was a little surprising Stark was still _in_ the bed, actually. Even with the severity of his injuries, Brock had honestly been expecting him to try and limp away as soon as Jack was out of the room. Or maybe crawl. Crawling was probably closer to his physical capabilities right now, and even that would be incredibly painful.

“What do you want from me?”

His tone was absolute steel, promising death and destruction, and it sent an excited shiver up Brock’s spine. He’d always wondered what it must have been like for Stark’s various captors, to have the man in their grasp and all that he promised. Surely they must have known the fate that came for them. Perhaps not the Ten Rings, granted. They, at least, had the excuse of being the first, for not realizing how much potential Stark held. They were still idiots.

“Haven’t really gotten that far along, honestly.”

“What?”

The confusion was all over his face and Brock grinned all the wider for it. He loved throwing these goodly, holier-than-thou types off their game.

“Not sure you’d do me much good, honestly. Don’t really have a use for you, but it’d be pretty lame to just drop you off safe and sound at home. I have a reputation to uphold, after all. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, being all goody-goody friends with Rogers.”

He was digging and felt a flair of satisfaction at Stark’s flinch. How deliciously interesting. So, Rogers _did_ have something to do with those curiously shield-shaped dents in the Iron Man armor. There must have been more to this ridiculous ‘Civil War’, as the media had deemed it, than the news was saying. He’d have to check more into that later.

“So, what? Your plan is to just keep me here until you figure something else out?” Stark asked suspiciously.

It was clear he wasn’t buying it for a second, much to Brock’s absolute joy. Sometimes it was just so much fun to mess with people. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well, weapons are definitely out. I mean, I’ve heard you don’t make those anymore anyway and I’ve already been blown up enough for one lifetime,” he gestured at the burn scars all across his face with a wry grin, “and I don’t need anything hacked or whatever. So… yeah. Don’t really need you.” He let his face wrinkle a bit before continuing with, “I guess we could hold you for ransom, but, really, that’s just so amateur.”

Stark stared at him.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

Brock just grinned and sent him a wink.

“Really, now. You’re in no shape for vigorous activities, Mr. Stark. Why don’t you just concentrate of healing up those injuries of yours and we’ll take care of the rest. Oh!” Brock pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it at the injured man. “Would you mind if I got a selfie with you? To send to Rogers? And try and look pained, if you could. This is the closest I can get to kicking him in the balls right now.”

.

Tony didn’t understand what was happening. He really didn’t. He felt as if he’d stepped into some strange alternate dimension, tripped and fallen through a Siberian rabbit hole into Neverland. Wonderland? Whatever. It was _weird._

Rumlow and Rollins were former Hydra, possibly current Hydra he supposed. They were criminals who regularly reveled in the use of lethal methods to take out their opponents and who had been a constant thorn in the side of the Avengers ever since the fall of SHIELD. Not even Tony could be sure of how many of their operations had flown under the Avengers radar and how many they’d been able to stop. They were mercenaries without qualm or moral.

Which, you know, was part of what made it so _weird._ Rollins, at least, seemed grumpy and surly when he came in to change Tony’s bandages or deliver food. They talked some, but only stiltedly. He also had no hesitation in ignoring Tony’s attempts to refuse pain medication. They were a double-edged sword, as far as Tony was concerned. As much as he enjoyed not feeling the physical proof of Steve’s betrayal, they left his head clouded and made it hard to think. He was probably still sharper than your average Joe, but to him it felt like his thoughts were moving through syrup. He didn’t like the feeling of them even when he didn’t need every scrap of his not-insignificant intelligence to figure out how he was going to get away from these two sociopaths.

Rumlow was far more confusing, all things considered. He was definitely the madman out of the pair, but it seemed like all he was really interested in was taking various pictures with Tony to send to Steve. At least he said that’s where they were going. He wasn’t even asking Steve to meet with him or attempt to trade something to get Tony back. (Not that Tony thought it would work if Rumlow _did_ try that. Steve had been more than clear about where his priorities lay.) No, it seemed like Rumlow’s entire motivation was just to… taunt Steve.

Tony was a genius, even hopped up on drugs. He’d done enough engineering while black out drunk to prove that. Hell, pretty much his entire college career proved it. He just… couldn’t understand _this_.

.

Brock was having a _great_ time. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages, even. He’d always thought of Rogers as stuffy and a bit annoying, all in all. He hadn’t taken the time to consider how absolutely hilarious the Captain could be if Brock wasn’t subject to following his orders. He gleefully swiped at the screen of his phone to answer the incoming call.

“Oh, Captain, My Captain! How nice to hear from you!”

As if they hadn’t talked _several_ times over the last few days, each time Brock sent him a nice, new picture. Today’s had been especially good, Brock thought. He really had to pat himself on the back for an excellent framing job. Stark had been nearly passed out from the newest round of drugs and sorely in need of a bath. Brock had managed to find just the right angle to make his sallow skin look even worse, his eyes half-lidded and blank.

“You son of a bitch,” Rogers cursed. His voice sounded rough.

Brock couldn’t help the dark chuckle that escaped him.

“Now, now, Captain Rogers. _Language._ ”

Rogers growled at him, _actually_ growled. Brock wanted to clap his hands and do a little dance with glee.

“If you’ve killed him-“

“Oh, you mean like you almost did?” Because Brock had figured that much out by now. Stark might not have said anything, but the media was all over Stark’s disappearance following the massive airport fight. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and wind up with four. “You should be thanking me for finishing what you started.”

There was a crunching sound and then the line went dead. Brock pulled the phone away from his ear to blink at it in surprise. Had Rogers just crushed his own phone? That was… That was _delightful!_ Except, of course, that now Brock didn’t have any way to get in touch with him. _That_ definitely put a damper in Brock’s fun times.

Welp, he’d just have to find another way to get in touch with him. Sure, he could wait it out until Rogers got a new phone, but that just sounded boring.

.

Tony regained consciousness to the entire bed jerking under him.

“Wha..?”

“Hey,” Rumlow demanded as he kicked the bed again, “wake up. What’s Rogers’ email address?”

Tony squeezed his eyes tightly shut before blinking them open again, trying to clear his head of the fog that clung to it. Fuck, but whatever these drugs were messed him _up_. How were Rumlow and Rollins even getting their hands on them? It wasn’t the kind of thing you could find at a drug store or a pharmacy without a prescription. This was medical grade.

“Steve’s email?”

“Yeah. I assume he’s not still using his SHIELD one. Come on, keep up. Thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

Tony shot the asshole a glare as he levered himself up onto his elbows, moving slowly to avoid his chest lighting up like a Christmas tree of pain. The meds did a lot to dampen it, but he still wasn’t exactly in any shape to make an escape attempt.

“Why do you want Steve’s email?”

Rumlow nudged the glass of water on the side table closer and waited expectantly until Tony picked it up and took a sip.

“Because I’m pretty sure he crushed his phone after the last picture I sent him and I need a new way to get in touch with him.”

Tony tried to recall the last picture Rumlow had taken of him but was coming up with only fuzzy possibilities. Rumlow helpfully offered up his phone, picture already on display. Tony nearly choked on his own tongue.

“Shit! I look like I’m dead!”

“I know, isn’t it great?” Rumlow looked downright joyful at the prospect. “You really can’t put too much of value on what good lighting can do for a photo. Rogers was _cursing_! You know, before the phone crushing bit. It puts a bit of a damper in me sending him _more_ , you understand.”

Tony could only stare at him.

“ _Why?_ ” he finally asked. “Why are you doing this? What are you getting out of it?”

Rumlow’s amusement evaporated like it’d never been there at all, his grin turning into a scowl that tugged at the burn scars covering his face. Tony had never really known him before the fall of SHIELD, but he’d seen pictures of what he used to look like. He wondered what it was like to have to look at those scars every day. He hated looking at the scars all across his own chest, but they were easier to hide and avoid looking at than scars across the face. Not that he felt sorry in any way for this psychopath. He didn’t. He just… noticed. There wasn’t a lot to do in this bed other than think.

As if reading Tony’s thoughts, Rumlow gestured to his face with an angry flick of his hand.

“He did _this_ to me. He took away _everything,_ with his holier-than-thou attitude and self-righteousness. He always thinks he so _right_ , doesn’t he? I bet he thinks he shits for a higher cause, too,” he snarled out, tone absolutely dripping venom. “It’s time someone took something away from him for a change, don’t you think?”

Tony grimaced. Flashes of the fight in the bunker flew through his mind and he knew that, this time, the pain in his chest wasn’t from his ribs.

_“He’s my friend!”_

_“So was I.”_

“Thus, the pictures,” Tony surmised, throat feeling tight. Rumlow’s motivation really was just to throw it all in Steve’s face after all, just like it appeared. “So, you’re going to kill me, then. That’s the endgame?” He sniffed haughtily, giving Rumlow his most defiant look. “You probably shouldn’t have wasted time tending to my injuries, then.”

Rumlow’s expression morphed into one of confusion.

“What? I’m not gonna kill you! I mean, I will if I have to, but I’m sure as hell not _planning_ on it. You’re pretty much the only one with any hope of bringing Rogers in, after all. And, trust me, there is literally nothing I would rather see than Rogers in a cell block. I might even turn _myself_ in after that if I can negotiate getting to walk by his cell every day on the way to the yard.”

“So, the pictures are just a way to cause him a bit of extra pain? Because I hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m not exactly Steve’s favorite person right not. Should’ve taken Barnes if that’s what you were after,” he grumbled, with no small amount of acidity in his own tone.

Sue him, he was still a little bitter. No one had ever claimed that Tony Stark wasn’t one to hold a grudge. He was also drugged to the gills and being held against his will, _again_. But fuck him for being in a bad mood, right? He was sure he’d wind up with the blame for all this somehow anyway. Story of his life.

Rumlow just shrugged.

“He broke a phone over it. And he cussed. Not very well, mind you, but I think it still counts. Rogers is just an asshole. If you’re really that sore about him screwing you over like he does _literally everyone else_ in his life, cough up that email address already. Or whatever. I know you’ve got to have something.”

Tony considered him for a long moment, weighing the options.

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Which, by the way, I kinda _don’t._ FRIDAY keeps track of all my contacts. I haven’t memorized anybody’s number since… shit, at least college and even then, I think that was just because I was so used to keeping numbers in my head. You’re out of luck, Bonesy.”

“FRIDAY’s your new AI, right? After the last one kicked the bucket?”

Tony flinched, _hard_. He couldn’t quite help it. JARVIS’s loss was still like a raw wound, despite the time that’d passed. He adored FRIDAY, he did, but she just wasn’t the same. He sent Rumlow a scathing look for the reminder, but the man seemed unfazed as he continued.

“What if I got you a computer, then? So you could get in touch with your systems. Would you give me the email address then? If you do, I’ll even get you out of that bed myself and help you with a bath.”

Tony blinked.

Was he… Was he _serious?_

.

“What are you _thinking?_ ” Jack hissed, snatching the shiny, new laptop out of Brock’s hands. They’d been through a lot together over the years and Jack had seen him do a lot of crazy things, but this just took the cake. “You can’t just hand Tony _Stark_ a computer and expect him to give you what you want! Where the hell is your head, man?”

Brock made a grab for the computer but Jack just danced backwards and away. No way was he letting this happen. He didn’t know what lies or trickery Stark had used to convince Brock this was a good idea, but Jack was going to make damn sure it didn’t cost them their lives.

“What are you freaking out over?” Brock asked accusingly. “I know what I’m doing.”

“The _fuck_ you do! You’re gonna get us killed! Pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t tried to escape already is because we keep him so doped up he’d barely be able to walk! And those drugs are costing us. We’re not gonna be able to keep the supply coming forever. I kept waiting for you to decide what we were going to do with Stark, but, Brock, man, this is _not_ the answer.”

Brock gave a huff of annoyance, like he was somehow being inconvenienced by Jack’s investment in their continuing _lives_. The absolute bastard.

“Exactly,” he said, folding his arms over his chest in that way Jack knew he did just to make his biceps bulge. “It’s _Stark_. Which means there was no way we were gonna be able to keep our hands on him in the first place.”

“So, what?” Jack demanded. “You’re just going to hand him the very thing that will let him bring the entire world down around our ears?”

Brock darted forward, striking as fast as a snake, and grabbed the laptop back.

“Yeah,” he said with a smug grin, “that’s pretty much it. Come on, Jack, don’t you trust me? When have I ever steered you wrong?”

Jack just gave him a flat glare.

“Do you want that list in chronological order or on a scale of the size of the disasters they caused? Ascending or Descending? Because I want to know whether I’m _starting_ with Budapest or ending with it.”

.

“Candy-gram!”

Brock grinned broadly as he strolled into the room, waggling the computer like he might a treat for a dog. He enjoyed the absolute flabbergast on Stark’s face. He was sitting up in bed today and reading one of the horribly trashy romance novels Brock had been leaving on the bedside table for when Stark was well enough to stay conscious but not quite well enough to get out of bed. Brock hadn’t expected him to get to them so soon, especially not with all the drugs in his system. He was getting some of his color back, too, and looked better for it. He’d look even better once the week’s worth of grime, sweat, and grease came off in the shower. And a shave. He’d definitely look better after a shave.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, then, eyes switching over to Brock and narrowing suspiciously, “It’s not going to blow up, is it?”

Brock just shrugged loose shoulders.

“Only if you turn it into a bomb.”

He tossed it gently onto the bed beside Stark, who kept on giving it the stink eye and didn’t make any move to reach for it. Well, Brock could say this for him, at least: He wasn’t an idiot.

“It’s customary,” he started again, recapturing Stark’s attention, “in my line of work, to give half the payment up front. Since you haven’t actually used the computer yet and I haven’t given you the password, what do you say about that bath?”

.

Brock had never been very shy when it came to nakedness, either his own or anyone else’s. He’d been in the military, and then militant organizations, far too long for that. So, shyness wasn’t a factor when he was stripping Stark of his clothes. What was a factor was surprise. Brock hadn’t ever really had a reason to look at Stark’s body before. Jack had handled changing his bandages and caring for his wounds, being generally better at it. (Brock’s usual method of approach with medical care usually involved a whole lot of “it’ll be fine” with a healthy side of “just walk it off”.)

Stark had muscle to him, though, and some pretty well-defined ones at that. His biceps were solid under Brock’s hands and his legs, albeit shaky, were toned enough to make any athlete jealous. Brock had always overheard the complaints from Rogers about Stark holing himself up in the lab. He hadn’t been expecting such a lab rat to have abs like _this,_ even if he ran around in a tin can fighting aliens. He knew Stark was a good-looking man, but there were a lot of good-looking men who were still a little… fluffy.

He also hadn’t been expecting so many _scars_.

Stark’s skin was covered with scars. There was the huge knot in the center of his chest where the arc reactor once sat, but there were others that spiderwebbed out from there. There was a long, shiny burn running along with bottom rib and more littering his forearms. His pecs and abdomen were peppered with tiny scars like sparks which Brock could only assume were from the shrapnel he’d caught in Afghanistan. Even his legs were scarred, particularly around his ankles and feet.

There were small, light scars from minor injuries and thick ropes of scarring from those that’d been more traumatic. They decorated Stark’s body in a tapestry of pain and torment. Order… Order came from pain, and Brock hadn’t had much order in his life lately, not since the fall of Hydra and the Avengers’ vendetta that followed.

He helped Stark into the tub without comment, lowering him down until the genius could sit fully in the water. Stark glared at him, his default expression lately, as he leaned back against the wall, legs bent up a bit and the tops of his knees poking out of the water. There was a pearly white scar on the top of his right knee that looked like a starburst. Brock found himself wondering where it could have possibly come from. It puckered in the center like a bullet wound, but then Stark definitely wouldn’t still be walking about.

“Thanks,” Stark spoke up dryly, drawing Brock’s attention back to his face, “but I think I’ve got it from here.”

Brock parked himself on the closed lid of the toilet and smile lazily.

“No can do, I’m afraid. It’s possible for a grown man to drown in as little as an inch of water, you know, and you’re still not in the best shape. I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Stark rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure. Your concern is truly touching.”

Brock snickered as he picked up a cup from the lip of the tub and scooped up some water with it, nudging Stark into tilting his head back so Brock could pour it over his hair.

“What can I say? I have an excellent bedside manner. Besides, you’ve earned it. Or you will, once you’ve given me that email address. I haven’t had this much fun in ages, honestly. There’s nothing that quite beats getting to rub Roger’s perfect little nose in something that stinks.”

This time, the look Stark gave him was more… analytical. Brock could practically see the gears turning as he worked out whatever he was working out. Brock just picked up the bottle of shampoo and squirted some out into his hand to begin rubbing through Stark’s hair. It was an absolute rat’s nest of tangles. At least it wasn’t longer. If this were _Barnes_ it’d be a nightmare.

“Yeah…” Stark finally settled on saying. “You seem very fixated on that.”

Rumlow just shrugged, scrubbing at the other’s head roughly without much concern for his comfort. This wasn’t a fucking day spa. He might have to help out, given that he truly doubted Stark’s ability to lift his arms high enough to even _reach_ his head, but that didn’t mean he was about to get all caring or whatever other bullshit.

“It’s not like I exactly have a lot of hobbies these days. Internationally wanted criminal and all that. I’m sure you understand.”

Stark squinted up at him again as Brock picked the cup back up and started washing the suds out. After this, Stark could wash the rest of his damn self. Brock certainly wasn’t about to rub down another man’s junk for any other reason that getting him off and he and Stark really didn’t have that kind of a relationship.

“Was it worth it?” Stark asked after another long silence.

Brock refused to look at him, just finished washing out the last of the suds in his hair and nudged the soap closer. Instead he turned his gaze out of this open bathroom door, back into the room where they’d been keeping Stark and the unmade bed with it’s rumpled covers and sheets. It seemed an odd question for Stark to ask. It certainly hadn’t been one that Brock was expecting. For a moment, he let himself wonder how to explain it, how to possibly convey that sometimes life is like a slogging uphill through ankle-deep mud and only finding out halfway up that you picked the steepest side of the hill. It’s too late to pick a different path and if you stop moving forward you’ll wind up sliding all the way back to the bottom.

“It will be,” he settled on instead, “if you get me that email address.”

.

Tony felt a million times better after the bath, however awkward and uncomfortably it was to have fucking _Crossbones_ of all people wash his hair like a mom would for a little kid. Fucking Twilight Zone level shit right there. Definitely one of Tony’s weirdest life experiences, and he’d fought aliens next to a giant green rage monster and the Norse god of thunder.

Crossbones, Rumlow, Brock, whatever his name was, had to be one of the strangest individuals Tony had ever met. And, again, giant green rage monster and Norse god of thunder. At least Bruce and Thor made _sense_ , in their own ways. Tony had them more or less figured out, knew what they would do in most any given situation. Brock was a total wild card. Tony didn’t feel like he had a handle on the man at all.

For one thing, he and Rollins had kidnapped Tony at his weakest point, dragged him out of the Siberian bunker where Steve had left him after the fight. But they’d also treated Tony’s injuries instead of just killing him. They hadn’t tried to use him in any way, other than this absolutely baffling request for Steve’s email address, or attempted to convert him to any idealistic, crazypants way of thinking. Hell, there hadn’t even been any ‘Hail Hydra’ talk.

And then, _then_ , Brock had handed him a fucking computer, unlocked it, and _left the room_.

Not that the unlocking would have stopped Tony from getting into the thing, or that Brock watching over his shoulder meant Tony couldn’t get a message out. Everything being as it was, Tony was starting to suspect there wasn’t even surveillance in the room they were keeping him in. It was nuts. He’d done a thorough sweep of the computer first thing to check for monitoring programs or duplicitous anything and… nothing. The thing was just a computer. It was even Stark Tech.

Once his sweeps were finished and he could be sure he wouldn’t be introducing anything malicious to her systems by reaching out, it was the work of mere minutes for Tony to get in touch with FRIDAY. He might not know his exactly location, but it wouldn’t take much to track him. The computer was connected to the internet and _Tony_ certainly wasn’t using any data encryptions. His fingers hovered over the keys, though, not making those final strokes to initiate contact. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. He just- Tony had never dealt well with not knowing things.

He set his fingers back to the keys.

.

Brock pointedly ignored the bags Jack had packed and set by the door of their safehouse. The man himself was loitering in the kitchen, heating up something in the microwave and glaring moodily as Brock passed by. Brock knew what he was thinking, even understood where he was coming from. It wasn’t like Brock expected Stark not to betray them, too. This was never a situation that was going to last. ‘Betray’ was a bit of a strong word, anyway, considering Stark would actually have to be on their side first for that to apply. There wasn’t a point in keeping Stark away from technology when he would just cobble something together as soon as he was well enough to move again. It wouldn’t even surprise Brock if the guy managed to build a bomb using the alarm clock and the shampoo out of the shower.

Tony Stark was a dangerous man. It was one of the things Brock actually respected about him. He’d been forged in pain and fire and Brock… Brock could understand that. There had never been a way out of this where they managed to keep Stark their prisoner. Nothing good ever came of Stark’s captors and Brock had already experienced enough fiery explosions to the face, thank you very much. He did not need a Stark Original. And Brock was no hero. He knew when it was better to cut and run than to fight to the bitter end.

Brock wasn’t trying to end it all just for the chance to piss off Captain America, however much fun that might be.

Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the door into Stark’s room, greeting him with a cheery grin.

“Any progress?”

Stark raised a skeptical brow at him.

“It’s been less than an hour.”

Brock shrugged nonchalantly.

“And I expect you’ve already called yourself an Iron Man armor, too, or at least reached out to the Avengers with your location. All things considered, I’m hoping for the Avengers. Gives me more time to make myself scarce before they manage to get here. Kinda surprised the armor isn’t here already, but I guess being on foreign soil helps with that. It’s kinda a long way to go. Speaking of going, I’d like the email before _I_ go. Even if I don’t have you, I’m sure I can come up with _something_ to antagonize Captain Goody Two Shoes with.”

Stark seemed honestly surprised by his words. Did he really think Brock was that stupid? Rude. Brock might be certifiably insane, but he wasn’t dumb. And the insane bit was just a matter of opinion, really. It wasn’t like he’d ever been tested or anything. Perks of working for HYDRA, they’d managed to weasel him out of having to go through any of SHIELD’s mandatory psych and therapy bullshit.

“I, hmm…” Stark pressed his lips together and scowled down at his hands for a moment before lifting his chin again to defiantly stare Brock down. The daring of it sent a little zing down Brock’s spine. “I haven’t done any of that.”

Brock cocked his head to the side a bit, not quite understanding.

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you actually sent a message to Captain and Crew! After they fucking left you like that? And here I thought you had more spine.”

Stark snorted derisively.

“Yeah, not likely. No, I mean I didn’t call for the suit or the Avengers. I just contacted my AI and get that email you were asking for. Assuming you still want it, that is?”

Brock narrowed his eyes at the man in the bed. He knew a trap when he saw one. No way would this end well. He grinned toothily, too wide to seem friendly.

“On second through, I think I’ve had my fun. Enjoy the rescue party, Stark. It’s been real.”

Then he turned on his heel and disappearing back through the door. He signaled to Jack that they were heading out. Whatever Stark had planned, it wasn’t going to end well for them. It’d be best to be as far away from ground zero as possible when Hell finally rained down. Jack made an affronted noise at having to abandon his meal but made no further protest. Less than two minutes later, they were on the road, leaving their safe house, and Stark, behind them.

.

It took Tony a few hours to realize that Brock wasn’t coming back. Great. Tony couldn’t even get to the bathroom by himself. Guess it was time to call in a pick up after all. He opened up the laptop again and followed his earlier path back to FRIDAY. He needed to get a message to… Well, not Rhodey, he was still in the hospital. And neither Vision or Parker were really up to piloting a quinjet to come get him. And Pepper… Better all around to not open that door.

Grimacing, he typed in a string of commands and waited for FRIDAY to connect his call through the computer.

“Hello? This better be important.”

Tony winced at the sharp tone in her voice. He doubted it would improve at all at hearing his own, of all people’s.

“Hey, Hill… Think you could run a quick errand for me? I find myself in need of a ride…”

.

Brock stared at the new email notification on his phone. No one should even _have_ his email. He’d specifically crafted it so no one would expect him to have it. Unfortunately, he had an uncomfortable feeling about this particular one. They’d only left the safe house two days before. There hadn’t been any news coverage about Stark being recovered, but it was a pretty safe assumption that he was home by now, back in his cushy tower with all his tech and machines. How hard would it _really_ be for him to track Brock and Jack down? Chances were, clicking on that email would spell a far too early end to their cat and mouse game with the Avengers. Even with a broken team, Brock didn’t doubt Stark’s ability to bring them down. Not now that Brock had made it personal.

Still…

The notification had been sitting there for several hours already and Brock couldn’t stop fidgeting with his phone, pulling it back out of his pocket to check the screen. Every time, the notification continued to sit there like a siren’s call, begging him to open it and just see what the genius had sent. The damn thing probably contained some sort of tracking software or ubervirus. Fuck, Brock didn’t even know. He also didn’t know what was actually in that email and it was driving him mad. He’d never been very good at resisting temptation. He’d grown up being taught that if he wanted something, he should take it. He shouldn’t just wait around for it to be handed to him.

Brock’s thumb hovered over the icon for a long moment before he mentally shook himself and swiped it off the screen. At least now he wouldn’t have to look at it. They’d grab a computer in a bit and he’d delete the email from there. If it was never opened, it could never do any harm.

Two hours later, Brock was at a computer terminal at the local library, just about as anonymous a terminal as one could want. Public libraries were second only to university computer labs, though those were a bit harder to get into. The public terminal meant that it couldn’t be traced back to him. Or at least it would take a shit ton more effort. They’d be heading out of the town as soon as he was done here anyway. He could just take a _peek_.

It wasn’t anything he could have expected.

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:tstark@starkindustries.com)

To: [stevengrantrogers1918@aol.com](mailto:stevengrantrogers1918@aol.com)

BCC: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: Thanks for Nothing

Rogers,

Honestly, I’m horrified you even have an AOL email account. Whose idea was that? It was a horrible idea. Horrible. And with that handle? This is even worse than that dinosaur of a flip phone you oh, so kindly decided to send me along with your ‘apology’ letter. Too bad I was busy being held captive by a guy you’d told me was blown up. Maybe try to find the time to sign up for a basic first aid class while you’re on the run. Might help you identify whether or not someone is _actually dead._

Which reminds me, you can’t even trace a cell phone signal? Isn’t Natashalie with you? That’s sad, Rogers. I thought you were better than that, but then I thought you were better than a lot of things. Clearly, I was wrong. Just wanted to say thanks for beating me into unconsciousness and leaving me in a Siberian bunker in an inoperable suit where getting kidnapped quite probably saved my life. Guess next time you see Crossbones you should thank him, too. Unless you were hoping I’d die out there, which I wouldn’t really doubt at this point. Fuck you and your flip phone, in case that wasn’t abundantly clear already.

Oh, and just a heads up in case you haven’t heard that you’ve been labeled an international criminal by the UN now. Not my decision, before you go pointing fingers and assigning blame. I had nothing to do with that one, being a captive at the time and all. That’s what happens when you give the bird to 117 sovereign nations who are _literally trying to help you do your job better._ You really can’t pin this one on me, for once. But, who knows, everything is my fault according to you. Maybe you’ll manage it.

Tell the others I say ‘Fuck off’ for me, okay? I should have known better than to think any of you wanted more than my money.

Suck it,

Anthony Edward Stark

.

Brock wasn’t completely able to hold back a hysterical giggle. Oh, Stark was a _genius_. This was even better than just getting Roger’s email address!

.

From: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

To: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

Subject: RE: Thanks for Nothing

I think I love you.

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

To: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: RE: RE: Thanks for Nothing

Is that why you kidnapped me? I know I’m irresistible but, please, _resist._

.

Brock intended to do no such thing. After those first couple of emails, and Stark so thoughtfully forwarding Rogers’ response, the two of them fell into a bit of a routine. Brock would pop into the public library or steal a laptop in whatever town they were in and log on to check Stark’s latest messages. It was obvious the other man was digging for information about Brock’s ‘master plan’ or whatever, but good luck to him because Brock didn’t have one. He was doing the same thing he’d always done, running until something found him.

He and Jack were staying away from major crimes, though, for the most part. With the climate as it was, they didn’t want any more attention on them than absolutely necessary, not with the outcry from the public to keep super powered individuals in check. Thanks, Captain America. Brock told Stark that, Tony, by now, but he wasn’t sure it made much of a difference. He wouldn’t have believed it coming from someone else, that was for sure.

The thing about Brock, though, was that he wasn’t a criminal for the love of being a criminal. To be sure, there were things he loved about it, but there were drawbacks, too. He loved not making his decisions based on the restrictions of the law but being constantly hounded by the authorities was such a hassle. He and Jack constantly had to watch each other’s backs. Still, it was a lot easier to make good money on the wrong side of the law than the right side of it. And their funds were starting to dwindle.

“Find anything that looks promising?” he asked Jack, peering over his shoulder to squint at the computer screen.

Jack had absolutely forbidden him from being the one to pick their next job, not after Lagos. He said he actually wanted them both to survive this one. Brock allowed it, if only because Jack had a knack for finding jobs that payed a lot of money for not a lot of effort or exposure. If they wanted to keep their heads down, those were exactly the kinds of jobs they wanted. Unfortunately, Jack didn’t look pleased by whatever it was he was seeing on the screen.

“Nothing that’s an option so far,” he ground out, clearly irritated.

Brock sent him a sharp look. He and Jack went way back, _way_ back. He knew the guy better than probably anyone else in the world. Jack was a Grade A actor, no doubt, but Brock knew all his tells, just like Jack knew all of his.

“What did you find?” he demanded.

He didn’t like that Jack might be trying to hide something from him. That wasn’t how they did things. His suspicions only grew as Jack gave him a long, measured look.

“We’re not taking it.”

Brock scowled at him, a look he knew was far more intimidating these days with the burns covering his face.

“What did you find?” he bit out.

It filled him with an odd sense of warmth that Jack still took the time to weigh his options before giving in. He really was the best friend Brock could ask for. Anyone else would be pissing themselves by now. Well, except maybe Tony. Tony would probably be threatening him right back.

“Someone put out a hit on a Stark Industries warehouse. Nothing too fancy, just a quick in and out job at the Alabama factory, out near Talladega.”

The sudden rush of anger and irritation caught Brock by surprise.

“When did it go up?” he growled.

Jack sent him a knowing, and judgmental, look before clicking around to another page on the computer.

“Looks like it only went up a few hours ago. Small wonder no one’s claimed it yet. It should be a cakewalk.”

Brock snorted at that, despite the fire still raging inside him.

“It’s Stark Industries. I’d rather break into Avengers HQ. Who put the job up?”

Jack shrugged.

“It doesn’t say.”

“Then _find out_.”

.

Brock thought briefly about going after the rival business owner who had put the hit out on Tony’s warehouse. _Sunset Bain_. Bitch sounded like she was probably a screamer. Oh, and Brock would enjoy it, too. But… doing that might actually turn Jack’s unspoken judgement of him into spoken judgement and that really was just not worth the effort. So instead he bundled up all the incriminating evidence Jack had found into a packet and sent it off to Tony in an email.

.

From: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

To: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

Subject: Thought You Might Be Interested

I’m looking forward to some explosions. ;)

Attachment: SunsetBitch.pdf

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

To: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: RE: Thought You Might Be Interested

Sorry to disappoint. I turned it over to the authorities. Hope your consolation prize is enough.

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

To: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: RE: Thought You Might Be Interested

FRIDAY says I should actually say thank you with words, so… thanks.

.

“Um, Brock?”

He grunted to acknowledge Jack’s questions. Frying eggs on a radiator was a delicate task and he wasn’t about to get distracted when they were so close to done.

“Brock, seriously,” Jack insisted, “what the fuck is this? What did you _do?_ ”

Brock turned to snap something biting at the other man only to have their latest stolen computer shoved into his face. He scrambled to grab onto it before it fell to the floor, words dying in his throat as he caught sight of what was being displayed on the screen.

“Wha-“ he wheezed, before recovering. “How the hell did _five-hundred thousand dollars_ get into our account?!”

.

The eggs burned.

.

From: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

To: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

Subject: RE: RE: Thought You Might Be Interested

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

To: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Thought You Might Be Interested

Nothing compared to what I would have lost if Bain had gotten her hands on that tech. Plus, it brings me great joy to see just how poorly orange suits her. I owe you one, Rumlow.

Just not anything illegal.

.

From: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

To: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Though You Might Be Interested

Call me Brock.

.

Dammit all, but knowing he’d made Tony happy made Brock feel all sorts of things he didn’t want to feel. It put him in an absolutely atrocious mood, as Jack could attest. Of course, that didn’t stop him from wanting to do it again. The money Tony had wired them lasted a while, but it wasn’t terribly long before they were in need of a new cash flow. Living on the run was expensive. (Idly, Brock wondered how Rogers was handling it.)

In a very Robin Hood-esque fashion, they stole from the rich and evil and… Well, they kept it, so maybe that wasn’t so Robin Hood-ly, but, the point was that they were staying squarely in the grey area of the morality scale. No more stealing possible weapons of mass destruction to sell to the highest bidder. It was more work, honestly, and Brock wasn’t entirely sure that Tony even noticed, but he felt like it was worth the effort.

He was a little surprised Jack stuck with him through it, though. Of course, Jack was a good friend. Better than Brock deserved. A terrible person as far as the rest of the world was concerned, but a good friend. Brock appreciated that more than he would ever be willing to say. Mostly because there was no way Brock was spewing that touchy-feely gross bullshit. He’d happily die before a single utterance of it ever crossed his lips.

But still, he could think it.

.

Things went on like that for months. Brock should probably have been concerned that it’d been well over a year since his kidnapping of Tony and he was still this attached. They continued to exchange emails all the time, but still. He should have been over whatever infatuation he had by now. It shouldn’t have been getting stronger. That was just ridiculous.

“You know,” Jack drawled in a way that seemed particularly judgmental, rather par for the course these days, “they say that the longer you keep your feelings for someone a secret, the stronger they get.”

What a shame that they’d been on the stairs when he’d said it and Brock was just _so_ clumsy that he pushed Jack down them. Jack was cackling when he hit the bottom, though, so he couldn’t be _too_ hurt. He was a horrible friend.

.

From: [youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com](mailto:youknowwhoiam@starkindustries.com)

To: [sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com](mailto:sunshineandrainbows@gmail.com)

Subject: URGENT: Please Respond

There’s trouble. I need you, if you’re willing. Call me.

.

Brock should have known that they weren’t done with aliens after the Battle of New York. There’d been that incident in London with Thor, granted, but he wasn’t sure that really counted. Still. Fucking aliens. Fucking _Chitauri_. And they came with a shiny new leader this time.

Tony was offering them amnesty if they helped in the battle, too. Both his and Jack’s slates wiped clean. It was UN approved and everything. A new lease on life. If they wanted it.

Brock wasn’t so sure he did, but he did want to live. And something told him this Thanos guy wasn’t planning on leaving anyone alive.

.

It was totally worth it to see the look on Roger’s face when Brock saved his life on the battle field. It was a close thing, too. Jack would be teasing him for _years_ for not letting the smug bastard die.

.

It was even more worth it for the smile Tony gave him as he handed over the amnesty documents. In person.


End file.
